Black Comedy
Got the news yesterday that one of my best friends will be coming to Montreal for the Gay Games this summer. Stuart and I met back in 2002 in Australia. I had gone there on an exchange for school. When I arrived I stayed with a friend of mine for a couple days while looking for a place to live. Before I had left Canada I had set up a few appointments (thank god for the internet!), and I arrived at a semi-detached house early one morning.
The room for rent was a furnished one that was available for exactly the same amount of time that I was going to be there and the location was half-way between the university and the gay area. Perfect. Two other guys were living there. One was a stereotypical older queen (well, in his forties) who was a hairdresser. He would wake up in the morning and pour a glass of wine out of a box in the fridge and settle down for a day of getting plastered. And this occurred everyday. It was my first exposure to a true alcoholic rather than the binge ones that I was far more intimately familiar with.
My other roommate was to be Stuart. Stuart hailed from Zimbabwe, but with British citizenship, and was there on a working traveler’s visa for a year. Stuart and I hit it off right away. As we were walking down the street trying to get to know each other he asked, “What kind of movies do you like?”
“Black comedies,” I replied.
“Did you like How Stella Got Her Groove Back?”
I hit the ground, literally, laughing my ass off, “No I meant like satire,” I giggled out. And Stuart without any hesitation broke out howling at himself. I knew then that anyone who could laugh at himself like that was someone that I would love (Of course, I failed to realize at that moment that Stella was not even a comedy).
Stuart grew up in Zim in a very precious and well-off life. His family owned a number of farms and he had many servants including the head lady Margaret. He even took a plane to school. Oh, rough life. This was before the change in political climate in Zim that saw his family lose a number of farms through “re-patriation”. For his birthday, I got a shirt made for him that said across the front “I had a farm in Africa” (to ape “Out of Africa”). Before I gave it to him, I hesitated. I was after all poking fun at the loss of property that his family owned. But my darling Stuart saw the humour. In fact, he ended up wearing it everywhere and became quite a pick-up shirt for him.
But what truly characterized the difference between my youth and Stuart’s was the story of when he first went to London to go to school. Stuart arrived and eventually found that he needed to do laundry. But he sat in front of the machine and realized he had no idea how to operate it. Calling his mother in Zimbabwe, Stuart asked, “How do you use the washing machine?”
“Oh,” his mother replied, “I have no idea. Margaret!”
The room for rent was a furnished one that was available for exactly the same amount of time that I was going to be there and the location was half-way between the university and the gay area. Perfect. Two other guys were living there. One was a stereotypical older queen (well, in his forties) who was a hairdresser. He would wake up in the morning and pour a glass of wine out of a box in the fridge and settle down for a day of getting plastered. And this occurred everyday. It was my first exposure to a true alcoholic rather than the binge ones that I was far more intimately familiar with.
My other roommate was to be Stuart. Stuart hailed from Zimbabwe, but with British citizenship, and was there on a working traveler’s visa for a year. Stuart and I hit it off right away. As we were walking down the street trying to get to know each other he asked, “What kind of movies do you like?”
“Black comedies,” I replied.
“Did you like How Stella Got Her Groove Back?”
I hit the ground, literally, laughing my ass off, “No I meant like satire,” I giggled out. And Stuart without any hesitation broke out howling at himself. I knew then that anyone who could laugh at himself like that was someone that I would love (Of course, I failed to realize at that moment that Stella was not even a comedy).
Stuart grew up in Zim in a very precious and well-off life. His family owned a number of farms and he had many servants including the head lady Margaret. He even took a plane to school. Oh, rough life. This was before the change in political climate in Zim that saw his family lose a number of farms through “re-patriation”. For his birthday, I got a shirt made for him that said across the front “I had a farm in Africa” (to ape “Out of Africa”). Before I gave it to him, I hesitated. I was after all poking fun at the loss of property that his family owned. But my darling Stuart saw the humour. In fact, he ended up wearing it everywhere and became quite a pick-up shirt for him.
But what truly characterized the difference between my youth and Stuart’s was the story of when he first went to London to go to school. Stuart arrived and eventually found that he needed to do laundry. But he sat in front of the machine and realized he had no idea how to operate it. Calling his mother in Zimbabwe, Stuart asked, “How do you use the washing machine?”
“Oh,” his mother replied, “I have no idea. Margaret!”
posted by Rye at 8:35 a.m.
3 Comments:
Hmm.. so this begs the question, why didn't you and Stuart become an item?
jjd,
There was never any question of that - on either side I believe. We just fell into a great friendship. All the ingredients were there for a lifelong love - but of the platonic variety. Don't really know why, but two gay men can come together and not end up shagging each other silly...:)
Great Story -
The black comedy line is hilarious!
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